A Thousand Sins
by Psycho-Shorty
Summary: Matthew Williams is just a smart kid everyone ignored with a military-bound half-brother and a knack for computers. When he disappears off the face of the earth, he meets a whole new side of the world. Nikolai Braginsky is a boy bound by his name to a world of crime. Matthew is determined to help him, but is there any way to separate a bond made by blood? Violent themes, blood, BL.
1. Chapter 1

The boy sitting before me folded his arms and leaned back in the chair, icy blue eyes flashing dangerously. Although his posture feigned comfort, his expression said otherwise.

"You really don't know how to give up, do you?" He growled. It was hard to see much, the lights had obviously been out of use for quite a while, the yellowish glow coming from the only working bulb flickered and danced on the cement floor.

The bindings holding me to the chair rubbed my wrists and ankles harshly, but I forced myself to relax and grin at Nikolai, knowing it would only do more to flare his temper, which, mind you, was entirely too short.

"You know, this life really doesn't suit you." I said, ignoring my aching throat. That could wait. This was so much more important. I ignored the soft sobs coming from the corner, trusting that Katyusha could hold out longer. It would have to wait, like everything else.

"How would you know?" he said. It was freezing outside, almost thirty below. I could feel my hands beginning to become numb from the cold, the frigid air seeping its way into my thin shirt. The boy in front of me seemed impervious to it, although he was wearing a coat and gloves; they seemed much too thin, even though the coat looked to be lined with some sort of artificial fur.

I forced myself to focus on these observations instead of the aching in my ribs-most likely broken-and the steady pounding of blood in my head, a rather harsh blow from a lead pipe, courtesy of Ivan.

"Are you going to ignore it? Ignore your own sister and your cousins and Alfred and Arthur, Eliza….in favor of your brother? I don't know if you've noticed, but he tried to _kill_ you. He nearly killed Katyusha and Toris. Are you seriously going to turn a blind eye to that just for Ivan? I hate to break it to you, but he's beyond saving. Even you should know that."

The blonde's eyes narrowed and I knew the blow was coming way before he brought his hand back, snapping forward with such precision that I knew only Ivan would've taught him that. My head snapped to the side and seconds later I felt the force of it, the ache spreading through my cheek like fire. I forced myself to push down the anger that bubbled up in my chest.

"We can help." I whispered, the words rubbing my throat raw. He looked almost hesitant for a second, then his eyes hardened again.

"No you cannot, Matthew."

* * *

To say that I was pleased with myself would be the understatement of the millennium. Hacking the government database and erasing myself had been one thing, one year of research, two month's worth of work and a few cramped fingers were the only price I had payed as of yet. But not only that, I hadn't been caught, and I had managed to sneak-more like persuade-my way onto a plane and was now in the beauteous country of Spain at only seventeen years of age.

My Spanish was limited, but I had learnt enough in primary school to suffice until I got used to it. After that I could go to Hungary, or Austria, or Germany…I was absolutely gleeful. It was all too simple. Now I would be completely free of my insufferable foster mother and a father who didn't even look at me, who couldn't remember my name half the time and instead directed his praise toward my grades. Like I actually cared about school. My half-brother was the only one who seemed to care even the slightest, but he couldn't sit still for a second to actually listen to me. Not to mention he was in America.

My days I spent in near constant hiding, usually in an alleyway or an abandoned apartment, but occasionally I would get up the nerve to climb a building and even jumped buildings when I was feeling terribly dangerous. My nights…well, I always had been a night owl, so I spent nights wandering the streets, ducking in and out of streetlights, taking in everything. I relished in this newfound freedom from the desolate life I had led and the tyranny of my god-forsaken father.

I held no more want for the simple things, food, clothing, human interaction. I wanted more than that. I wanted the excitement of living on my own, on the run, the rush of adrenaline that came with a life without order. Organized, rhythmic chaos ruled my life. I suppose now, looking back on it, I could've called it wanderlust. The word wasn't too far off the mark, in my mind. I felt a constant push, a drive to seek something I had never had. I longed for new places, new heights, excitement, and adventure.

The simplicities of life could wait. A full stomach or a warm night in a real bed couldn't hold a candle to the thrill of leaping buildings, slinking away in alleyways, or those nights, which were few, that I would meet a stranger on their own journey. Usually without a permanent home, I would stay with them, be it on rooftop or in a forest, or even in a hotel room, learning their story and comparing it to mine. It seemed I wasn't too alone in my endeavor.

My invisibility seemed to simply further my delight in meeting these people. The whole world-except for the other wanderers- seemed to be oblivious to me and for the first time ever, I absolutely loved it. When I walked the streets, I would people-watch, admiring their obliviousness. For the first time, I saw the world around me in a new light. Disappearing off the face of the earth had done something for my view of the world.

It was warm in Spain, certainly warmer than Canada, but I didn't get rid of my old hoodie. It was the last thing I had from my home, and while I entirely disliked my family, I couldn't help the pride I had for my beautiful, snow filled country. This particular sweater was red with a white maple leaf imprinted on the front. It was at least a size too big, as were all of my sweaters, and it hung off my frame loosely without actually slipping off. It was perfect, or at least that was what I believed. As it were, my entire stay in the gorgeous country of Spain was spent wearing that same article of clothing, save for when I washed it of course. It seemed I could not part ways with it, even if I wanted to.

* * *

I hadn't heard from Matt in two months. Two. _Is he mad or something?_ I thought. Although we were only half brothers and lived in different countries we kept in touch. I had racked my brain over and over to try and think of something I might've done to bring this on, but it was to no avail. He wasn't the type to simply ignore people, he was too polite.

Finally, I called the Canadian archives. They would talk to an American, right? Maybe if I told them it was my brother they would understand. They could tell me a way to call his parents-_Jerks_- and that would be it. I didn't like his parents, hell; he even said he hated those superficial idiots. We could both agree on the fact that the mother we shared was considerably more awesome than anyone else.

So when the lady at the archives finally picked up (after two hours of being on hold) and told me "There is no one named Matthew Williams by that description, I apologize." It hit me like a ton of bricks. He had talked and talked about doing research on computers and joked with me about erasing himself completely and traveling the world, but…he couldn't have actually done that, right? I mean, doesn't it take some sort of supercomputer to do that?

After thinking and re-thinking I decided that was the only thing that could've happened. _Wow. I never thought he'd get up the guts to do that. It's kinda badass. _I thought. Well, there was only one thing to do now. Join the military like I had always planned. If Matt was really missing on purpose, he would want me to. He'd always told me it was my "calling", whatever that meant.

I had to trust that Matt would be okay, since there wasn't a way to find him. _God, Matt, you better still be alive._

* * *

It was time for a change of scene. After almost two years in Spain, learning Spanish and running around, it was time to continue my dream of wandering around all of Europe. In my mind, that meant every country. I had always wanted to go to Austria, but I'd never had the chance. From Austria I could go to Hungary and from there, Germany. The options were seemingly endless.

The only problem was, how could I get there? I had taken my passport with me to go to Spain, but it was old, and they would probably notice that A) I technically didn't exist and B) I was Canadian but no longer had a residence in Canada. I had checked online, my stupid foster parents had looked for me for a couple months, then just went back to pretending I didn't exist, meaning they hadn't counted me in the Census, so I technically didn't have a home in Canada. Great.

As I wandered around a city whose name I couldn't recall, deep in the bowels of this unnamed place, my mind came back to my disposition. I had gotten to Spain without much trouble, so all I had to do was replicate what I had done then, right?

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair then shoved my hands into the large front pocket of my hoodie. I looked around and shivered involuntarily. I knew all-to-well what kind of neighborhood I was in. I had been to Detroit when I visited Alfred in America and this place looked to similar to it for me to be comfortable.

I could hear footsteps, large and heavy, not completely steady, behind me. I surged forward, launching suddenly into a brisk pace just in case whoever was behind me decided I was the kind of person they'd like to attack. I didn't think much on it, though. It wasn't like I hadn't been jumped before, and most people ignored me, anyway. I looked too young to have much money on me, and the truth was, I usually didn't. The money in my bank account I used frugally. _Yeah, this guy probably doesn't even realize I'm here._ I thought nervously.

The footsteps behind me quickened their pace also. They weren't too far behind me, at least judging by sound. I glanced backwards and immediately regretted it. _Shit, that guy has to beat least six feet tall. _I thought to myself. Six feet tall, broad shouldered and barrel-chested, this guy definitely beat me in the size department. A knife glinted in the light of the streetlamps, making my heart feel as if it would beat straight out of my ribcage. My mind raced for an escape plan.

_Too close. My bag will weigh me down if I try to run anyway. _I thought. Although he was unsteady, he certainly looked fit enough to run. I could try, I had been on the track team, but if I knew anything about crime in this area, he would probably have some friends waiting for me down the block and that was not something I wanted to deal with at the moment.

I kept my feet moving at the same brisk pace, trying not to seem like I was aware of the situation. _Okay, calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. He can't really kill you, can he? The worst this guy can do is find out I don't have any money and beat me up. _I thought. It didn't help much.

Before I had time to think of a new plan, someone walked into the road in front of me. At first, I was relieved. Maybe this person was going to help me? The man stopped in the middle of the road. He wore a sweatshirt, the hood pulled up so it shaded his face. I couldn't make out anything of his appearance, only that he was maybe five seven" and not as bulky as the man behind me.

I stopped in my tracks. _Shit. No, no, no __no__. this can't be happening, not now!_ I began to panic as they got closer. They both stopped about three feet away from me on either side. The man in front of me held out a tanned hand.

"Nome digas que notienes dinero, ahora."(Don't tell me you haven't got any money, now.) He said, almost mockingly. I pulled my hands out of my pocket.

"Uh…no. R-Realmente no lo s-sé."(I really don't.) I stammered, though it was barely louder than a whisper. The man took a step closer and I backed up, only to remember that there was someone behind me also.

"¿Qué hay enla bolsa?" (What's in the bag?) He said. Right, my bag. I reached up to my shoulders and wrapped my fingers around the material of the straps. There wasn't much in it, just my clothes, a watch, a couple of protein bars and a small bag with maybe ten dollars in it.

"R-Realmente, n-no tengonad-da."(Really, I don't have anything.) I said, trying-and failing- to raise my voice so that I would sound intimidating, or at least convincing. I sounded more like a nearly-mute four year old. I would've laughed if I weren't being leered at.

I felt my backpack shift and I spun around, now face-to-face with the first thug. _No, please, god just let me go! _I thought. I tightened my arms around myself, trying to shrink. _Oh god, I'm going to die! _I thought.

Out of nowhere, the man in front of me was yanked backwards. My eyes widened as a blonde in a blue sweatshirt snapped a fist forward, straight into the man's face. A sickening crunch and I knew his nose had been broken. The man cried out in pain and brought his hands to his face. The blonde took this opportunity to grab him by the arms and yank him forward, slamming his knee into the man's stomach.

The man behind me had frozen, and I whipped around to watch him, afraid of what he might do. His eyes, which had been as wide as saucers moments before, narrowed. He pulled something out of his pocket and my stomach twisted as I realized what it was. He flipped out the blade, fixing the blonde with a glare.

"Así¿qué creesque estás haciendo,mocoso?" (Just what do you think you're doing, brat?) He said, waving the knife around as he spoke. I backed away from him, glancing over at the boy. He looked young, maybe fifteen or sixteen, certainly not big enough to take on either of them, but yet…

Strangely enough, at the man's words, a grin overtook the blonde's face. I could feel the blood draining from my face. _He's freaking __insane__! _ I thought. The thug leapt forward, shoving the blade out in front of himself. The boy stepped easily to the side, grabbed the man's arm, and wrenched the knife out of his hand. He muttered something to himself as he shoved the man past him and examined the knife.

Losing interest in it, he chucked it somewhere as the man righted himself. It was obvious how uneasy he was about fighting the boy now, but regardless, he turned back toward him. The blonde frowned at him, but reached into his pocket and pulled out a…phone.

"Me gustaría no tener que llamar a la policía, por lo que si usted acaba de salir y fingir que esto nunca sucedió, se agradecería."(I'd like to not have to call the police, so if you would just leave and pretend this never happened, it would be appreciated.) He said. His accent was thick, though I couldn't figure out what exactly it was. The man sighed and relaxed, nodding his head in agreement. The boy tossed him something small and he caught it.

"Recomendar a Carriedo que será mejor que desaparecer, y rápido. No queremos que ningún problema, ¿verdad?" (Tell Carriedo he'd better disappear, and fast. We wouldn't want any trouble, would we?) He said. _Carriedo? Where have I heard that name before? _I thought. The man glared at him, but walked over to his accomplice and helped him up, walking away somewhere with him.

The boy turned to me and looked me up and down questioningly. I finally had a chance to get a good look at him. Tall, thin, and Slavic-looking, he wore a near-permanent looking frown now. He sighed and muttered something in a language that was definitely not English or Spanish.

"Вы идиот!" (You are an idiot!) He said suddenly. From the very little Russian I knew, I could tell that he was cussing me out. _Why is he speaking Russian? _I thought. He sighed and held out a hand, motioning for me to step closer.

"¿HablasInglés?"(Do you speak English?) He asked, sounding exasperated. I inched toward him, wary of what he might do next.

"Uh…um, yes?" I said. He stared icily at me for a moment, then turned and began to walk away. He turned back for a moment.

"Are you coming?" he asked, his accent weighing heavily on the words. _Definitely Russian_. I thought as I walked slowly after him. Where would he take me? Who was he anyway? _Whoever he is, he's probably part of one of those gangs I've heard of round here. Where else would he learn to fight like that?_

* * *

**Hey, sorry I haven't updated in a while, there have been some pretty messed up things happening in my life ^^' This story was in my head and I just couldn't get it out, so I'm typing it up in the hopes that you guys will like it as much as I do.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yeah, so in case you're wondering, Nikolai is Belarus. Thought it might help. Also, an OC of mine, Vladmir, will show up. He is not Romania.**

* * *

- Matthew's POV~

This was weird. This was weirder than weird. What was I doing here? The boy who had just saved me from a couple of thugs, cussed me out in Russian, and was possibly part of a gang had led me through the streets and into an old abandoned apartment complex. The paint was cracked and chipping and the roof looked like it was just about to cave in and bury us in a pile of old, termite-bitten wood and disgustingly flowery wallpaper. Many times on our short journey through the city I tried to ask him where we were going. Most times I opened my mouth, but couldn't say it, and the other times I suppose I was simply too quiet to be heard, either that or he ignored me.

I could've run, but I was too frozen to do so, too afraid of what might happen, or what this boy might do. So I walked silently, trying to keep as much space between myself and the boy while still being close enough to follow him. He led me through a part of the city I had purposefully avoided because of all the violence I had heard of there.

I kept close to him during this part of the journey, and many times I saw shady-looking people, but it seemed they noticed who I was with and stayed out of our way. _Just who the hell is this kid?!_ I thought to myself time and time again, but never voiced it. He led me into the old building, up the stairs, and into a room. Surprisingly, it wasn't that bad. There was a queen-sized mattress on the floor in the corner, and an old couch. A backpack and a duffel bag, both army green, were the only real signs that he was staying here. He pointed to the couch and spoke for the first time since he asked me if I spoke English.

"You may sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you will leave. There is an airport two blocks down, toward the middle of the city." He said. His accent was still as thick as molasses, but I had been speaking English for long enough to understand him. I pulled off my backpack and sat stiffly on the couch. Either he didn't notice my discomfort, or, once again, he was ignoring me. He sat on the mattress and pulled the backpack toward himself, pulling out a phone and calling someone.

I sank deeper into the cushions of the couch as he spoke in rapid Russian to whoever was on the other side if the phone. He paused for a moment, and it sounded like someone was yelling on the other end. The phone beeped and the boy held it out in front of himself, staring at it. Whoever he called had hung up on him. He threw the phone back in the bag and chucked it into the corner, where it hit the wall and fell to the floor with a thud. I pulled my knees to my chest, suddenly very afraid of the boy, but it seemed that that was the last of his fit of anger. He ran a hand through his chin-length hair and looked at me. He stared at me for a moment, thinking, then put his hand down.

"Do you have a name?" he asked, staring up at me.

"U-uh, yes…I-I'm Matthew." I couldn't control my stuttering, no matter how I tried. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Matthew Williams." I said. He tilted his head to the side and stood, walking back over to the bag that he had thrown in the corner and rifling through it. He pulled out a thick, heavy-looking manila envelope and pulled out a stack of papers about as thick as a Harry Potter book. He thumbed through the papers for a moment, then paused and pulled out a couple papers held together by a paperclip. He handed them to me silently, then put the others back.

I didn't notice him sit next to me, shocked into silence by the contents of the papers in my hands. A profile, but not just any profile, it was mine. A missing persons report.

**Matthew Williams, **

**17 years of age **

**Gender: male **

**Hair: blonde, shoulder length **

**Eyes: blue Height: 5' 3" **

**Description (As given by his foster parents): Thin, wears glasses, may be wearing a red sweater, may have a black bag, round wire-frame glasses. **

**Country of origin: Canada**

I looked up at the boy, my mouth still hanging open in shock. I quickly closed it and backed away from him, or as much as I could while staying seated. He shrugged.

"I am not the police. I have been reading these reports for…well, I have a reason. But I cannot share it. The point is, you do not exist." He said. Just then, I heard a door open, and footsteps, wearing what sounded like military-grade combat boots, pounding up the stairs. I sat rigid, tense with fear. "Oi, Nikolai!" came a loud voice. A man appeared in the doorway, his short brown hair mussed, wearing cargo pants and holding a bundle of rumpled papers. "I found…."

He stopped abruptly when he saw me. He looked between the boy and me for a second. His amber eyes seemed to stab straight through me. "Who-is-this?" he said, the words short and choppy. The boy next to me seemed unfazed.

"He was being attacked by some of Carriedo's men, so I decided to give them Ivan's message." He said.

"You didn't freaking have to. And you can't just-"the man started. "But I can." The boy said, shrugging it off. There was a moment of freakish silence. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. The man muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes, and then spat something that sounded extremely nasty at the boy in Russian. The boy retorted, and soon they were both speaking it. It seemed they were both fluent in the language, and from my limited knowledge of Russian, all I was able to tell was that they were talking about that "Carriedo" guy again. And some other people, Ivan and Katyusha.

My head spun. I didn't know half of what they were saying, so after a while I gave up on understanding any of it. Finally after maybe fifteen minutes of them going back and forth, the brown-haired man turned to me. He sighed as I shrunk back into the couch in fear. He stepped forward and the air in my lungs seemed to freeze and turn to lead. He saw my frightened expression and took a step back, rubbing the back of his neck. He gestured toward the blonde, who had taken up residence in the far corner of the mattress.

"He is Nikolai. I'm Vladmir." He said. He also had an accent, but I hadn't noticed before because I had been too busy waiting for him to pull out a knife and try to kill me. He flopped down on the other end of the couch and I turned toward him, pulling my knees back up to myself. Thoughts spun like a whirlwind in my head, and in my daze I couldn't secure one for even a moment. He stared at me expectantly. I swallowed the lump that had somehow taken residence in my throat without my consent.

"I-I'm Matthew. Uh, excuse me for asking, but are you…are you Russian? I-I mean, not trying to offend you or-" I asked, but like everything else, it was barely audible. I nearly fell off the couch when he started laughing, clutching his stomach as he rocked with the force of it. Nikolai scoffed at his behaviour, but didn't comment.

"You-you really are something, kid." He said when he had finally stopped. I pushed my glasses back up from where they had slipped down my nose. "Yeah, we are. So," he continued. "You're French-Canadian? How did you get here? You don't look old enough." He said.

"Oh. I…I, um…well…" I said. It really was a long story, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to tell these people. What if they were just asking so that they could take advantage of me? I wasn't in any place to try and fight them, nor could I run.

"You can tell us. Like I said, we are not the police. Are you a runaway?" the boy, Nikolai, said from the corner. I looked between the two for a second, but Vladmir seemed genuinely curious, and he didn't look ready to jump at me either, stretched languidly along the couch like a cat.

"Well, I suppose you could call it that. I-I actually, well, you won't believe this, but…" I sighed. "I purposefully left; I kind of found a way to erase my files without being caught. I hate my home, and I'm good enough with computers to do these things so…I just did. I've been living on the streets for…well, for about two years now I guess." I said. Vladmir's stare softened and he looked away.

"You should go back home to your parents." He said quietly. I felt anger bubble up in my chest before I could stop it.

"Why? How could you know what it was like there?" I said, not yet a shout, but not my normal, soft speech. A sad smile twisted at the corners of his mouth. He sat up, resting his elbows on his knees and staring at his clasped hands as he spoke.

"I wouldn't know but…I know that this life is not as glamorous as it looks." He said. I raised an eyebrow. _What life?_ "We are…criminals." He said. "Don't use that word." Nikolai said stiffly. Vladmir shrugged.

"W-what? So…why don't you…y'know, leave?" I said. Vladmir stared at his hands, folded in his lap. "You can't just leave. Once you are in, there is no way out. The world of crime is not a two-way door, Matthew."

* * *

- Alfred's POV~

When I awoke, the first thing I noticed was the throbbing in my left arm, a dull, aching sensation that spread up my left arm like tiny tendrils of fire. The second was the ringing in my ears that made it almost impossible to focus on anything else. It made me dizzy, even though it was obvious that I was already lying on my back. The third was that the blurriness in my vision was taking much longer than it usually did to go away. No matter how many times I shook my head and tried to swallow, the fuzziness in the corners of my vision and the dryness in my throat wouldn't go away. They faded, but still left their traces. My throat felt like the tundra outside, hot, dry, and cracking. I coughed, my chest heaving, and was immediately stilled by a sudden eruption of pain in my arm, which I could now see was bandaged all the way to the shoulder.

I looked around to see that I was on a litter (**A/N- A litter (according to my parents who used to be in the military) is a portable, metal-framed hospital bed they used in the military**), the bed I was on had about two feet of space between it and the curtain that surrounded it for privacy and in case I started to bleed out and they didn't want anyone seeing. Don't think about that. You're alive, aren't you? I thought.

A woman peeked inside the curtain and, seeing that I was awake, smiled warmly at me and stepped inside. I recognized her as one of the medics, a particularly popular one, known for her kindness and boundless energy. She had long, wavy hair that she had pulled back into a bun, save for a long, gravity-defying piece that she could never seem to manage. She fiddled with the machines, the IV in my arm, and the pillows, all the while talking with me to test my memory.

"Where are we?" she asked, lifting my arm gently to look at it.

"Afghanistan." I said, hissing from the pain that immediately followed the movement.

"What is your name?" she said.

"Alfred F. Jones."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one, my birthday is the fourth of July." This went on for a while, she asked me about my parents, my high school, how I was feeling (like I had been run over by a semi truck, which she frowned at), and my time in the military. Finally she asked the question I had been waiting for.

"Alfred, do you know what happened?" she asked softly. I grimaced.

"I…I think so." I said. Everything was fuzzy from that time; I only remembered a few details. It was just a routine check for road bombs. We did it all the time. She nodded for me to continue.

"Uh…we were checking for mines. It just got really bright really fast and I guess I passed out. I…did I get like…blown up?" I said. She giggled at my choice of words and finished bandaging my arm again.

"Well, sort of. You were the closest, and your arm was injured badly. Luckily, we have a good doctor here, doctor Edelstein patched you up. With a little work you'll be able to use your arm again."

* * *

- Nikolai's POV~

As I child, I didn't really know my father-okay, lets rephrase that, I didn't know my father at all. The only memory of him I had was a cold, dark shadow with icy blue eyes that only ever glared at me. He avoided my siblings and I at all costs, no matter what. When I was about seven, Ivan eleven, and Katyusha fourteen, he suddenly showed up and, without a word to Katyusha or myself, dragged Ivan out with him.

Ivan returned a few days later, but he didn't talk to us. He locked himself in his room without even looking at us. Katyusha fed him and tried to keep his health up, and he seemed to recover. Just when we thought he would be fine, our father came back and dragged him out again. This became a terrible, never-ending cycle, until Ivan stopped getting better. Day after day, he became more violent, lashing out at Katyusha when she tried to help him. When Katyusha came out of his room clutching her cheek and fighting back tears for the first time, I was horrified. But each time, she smiled with the same bright expression and hugged me whispering, "We will be strong. We must. Ivan is still our brother, this is still our home."

The cycle continued for only four years, but to us it felt like a lifetime. Many times I wondered if we could really survive it, if there was a way out. Finally, Ivan came back one last time, and without batting an eye, without even a hint of remorse, said something neither Katyusha nor I could've foreseen.

"Dmitri is dead." He said quietly, and shut himself back into his room. Katyusha and I stared at each other in disbelief. I hardly even noticed that he had called our father by his first name. None of us cried. How could we cry for a man we never knew? His funeral was silent, the few people that came to it just stepped in for a moment, payed their respects and left. We sat in a row in silence, staring at the closed coffin.

There were three other children who came to his funeral, supposedly children of his brother, our cousins. They too sat in a row, on the other side of the isles in the church. I saw Katyusha walk over to them, and talk to the oldest, who looked to be around Ivan's age. He had long auburn hair down to his shoulders and wore a sombre expression. The two other boys stood behind him, shaking with fear. We were young, I was only ten. Ivan was fourteen, Katyusha seventeen. That was the day that Ivan inherited our father's life, the life of a crime lord. That day, if we were not already from all that we had seen, we became adults, whether we wanted to or not.

* * *

- Matthew's POV~

After a while, Vladmir started to try to make conversation, which was a bit awkward at first, but it was comforting compared to Nikolai's stony silence. He avoided questions about my life at home, instead asking about how I had gotten here, what my stay in Spain was like, and what I planned to do. After a while, he asked me what I was going to do and where I would go after the plane ride.

"Sounds like your parents won't be much help." He murmured. I nodded.

"Well, maybe I don't need them." I said indignantly. "I got here just fine, I can go wherever once I'm in Europe. I know how to cross the border, and it won't be any different than here. I've been living on my own for two years now, who says I can't keep going?" he raised an eyebrow at this, but didn't question it or reprimand me. We sat in silence for a while, Vladmir with his head tipped back, staring at the ceiling, Nikolai still shuffling papers irritably, and me, still fumbling with my thoughts to make sense of everything, half-curled into a ball on the very edge of the couch. Nikolai seemed content with the quiet, still atmosphere that had settled over the room like a blanket. Finally, after what seemed like hours of not talking, Vladmir piped up again.

"So, what country are you planning to go to?" he asked. My teeth worried at my lip as I was tied between telling the truth-that I wasn't going home-and lying and probably being caught. I wasn't much good at fibbing, and I had never gotten better.

"Well...I was thinking Austria. Then, from there, I'll go to Hungary." I said. He looked over at me and I thought for a split second he might yell at me.

"Promise me you'll stay within the law there. You do not want to end up like us." He said. I glanced at Nikolai, who clenched his jaw and all but glared at the papers in his hands, refusing to look up. The air around him seemed to turn to ice and I winced at the expression on is face. Vladmir followed my gaze and chuckled, not bothered at all. He leaned closer to me.

"He doesn't hate you or anything; he's just not good with people he doesn't know very well. Or people in general." He whispered, the edges of his mouth curving into a smirk.

"I can hear you." Nikolai muttered, still intent on refusing to look up. Vladmir didn't seem to care either way. _So if you hate strangers so much, why help me?_ I thought as Vladmir stood, retrieving a blanket from the duffel bag and tossing it my way. _And, moreover, why bring me here? Why not just give that message to the "Carriedo" guy and leave me?_ I thought, sinking further into the musty-smelling couch as the lull of sleep dulled my senses and pulled me into the world of the unconscious.

* * *

So here I was, on the plane finally, just starting to take off on the thirty minute flight to Klagenfurt, Austria. I thought back to Vladmir and Nikolai. When I awoke, they had been gone; every trace of their former existence in that room had been erased except for the mattress and couch. It was bare, save for a piece of paper, folded carefully and placed in the middle of the mattress with further directions on how to board the plane.

Where had they gone? Were they going back to Russia? I couldn't help my curiosity for Nikolai. Just who was he? Helping me, and then refusing to acknowledge my presence while the person who seemed to disapprove of my being there the most talked to me. Nothing he did made sense. And his eyes, those of a man who had seen the world. I had to remind myself that he was just a kid, younger than me even. The more I thought, the more my mind twisted around itself searching for answers I didn't have until I started getting a headache.

I still had the blanket in my bag, and its presence weighed heavily upon my thoughts. It was such a kind gesture for those supposed "criminals". I reached into my pocket and took out the folded paper with the instructions, looking it over one last time to make sure I had done everything right. I sighed and folded it back up, ready to put it away, when I noticed small, choppy handwriting on the back. I turned it over and stared for a moment at the words written there.

Please stay out of Russia. Nothing personal, for your own protection. -NB

I knew who it was from immediately; it was so different from Vladmir's large, messy scrawl that took up nearly the entire front page. It was the kind of handwriting that made you think that maybe it was typed by a computer instead of actually hand-penned. Nikolai's ability to use as little words as possible shone through in his writing. _Are NB his initials?_ I thought. I couldn't help wondering about his last name. It seemed I would never know anything about the boy. It wasn't fair, in my mind, that he would know my full name, my home country, nearly everything there was to know about me, and I only knew the measly amount I got from looking and talking to him. _You mean not talking to him._ The little voice in the corner of my brain whispered mockingly.

As it were, I spent the entire plane ride thinking about those two. The plane landed near Klagenfurt at about ten in the morning. I remembered Vladmir's instructions on how to exit the airport and heeded them carefully. I stumbled wearily off of the plane, fully prepared for the sudden onslaught of the German language. I gasped as I looked around. It was just so...so cool. It wasn't too different from other airports, but all of the German on the signs and the weird-looking shops drew me first thing I did was go over to an ATM, which (_thank god_) allowed me to use English so I could get out real Austrian money. I got out the equivalent of thirty dollars (**A/N- I'm American, sorry that I don't know much about European money ^^,**) and proceeded to check out the oh-so-alluring café that was just next door.

I was a java-head, no doubt about it. At home, I used to walk to school, and along the way I would stop at Tim Horton's for coffee. I thought back to this as I struggled to remember the little German I knew. The woman just smiled and offered to pick something out for me, to which I gratefully accepted. They gave me some wonderful drink with cinnamon and tons of whipped cream, practically dripping off the sides.

I nursed it as I walked through the airport, through the parking lot, and found myself out on the streets on the outskirts of Klagenfurt. I gazed around in wonder, not caring if I looked like a tourist. The towering buildings and shops with giant windows for me to stare into seemed to never end. I didn't care that it was cold, or that the hem of my jeans were getting wet from the puddles. I felt a surge of nostalgia, from when I first got to Spain, wandering around Madrid for weeks before I went anywhere else.

I knew I was getting deeply, irreversibly lost, but at the moment I didn't care. As that deep navy blue of the night sky began to creep over the horizon, the streetlights flickered on. A soft smattering of stars flickered overhead, less prominent because of the light pollution, but beautiful nonetheless. The buildings, a soft tan colour, were built like a maze, most only three or four stories tall, with perfectly placed windows and reddish-brown rooftops. I walked aimlessly for what could have been days without tiring.

I finally noticed the time, realizing for the first time how my feet ached and my back hurt from carrying my backpack It was only when I started to notice the change in colours in my wandering that I realized how dark it was. The streetlights weren't as close together as they had been in the inner city, and it started to look a little suspicious. The buildings on either side of me turned to houses, a few grey, stone buildings scattered around. I turned around and around, but no matter what I did, I couldn't find my way out of the winding path of houses. I began to panic, there seemed to be no was out of the labyrinth of houses and streets.

When I turned around to see a pair of eyes, glowing what looked like blood red in the yellowish glow of the streetlamps, I screamed.

And then I fainted.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- I will now start writing in people's respective accents, Matthew's will stay the same since it's not too different. Please someone help me write a Russian accent if you know how! Also, my German is terrible, so if you have a correction please tell me and feel free to lecture me on my terrible German skills! This story is going to get way more complicated than the summary ever implied. It's going to get funnier so bear with me and my terrible sense of humour. Also, WHENEVER I MAKE DIALOUGE HAVE BAD GRAMMER IT'S ON PURPOSE!**

**Disclaimer- I OWN NOTHING! If I did...everyone would hate me. Everyone. (And Hetalia would be entirely smut)**

*~LINEBREAK~*

I woke to someone shouting frantically in what sounded like German. I groaned and rolled over on what felt like a bed and covered my head with my hands, muttering at whoever was shouting to _shut the hell up_. Whoever it was that had been yelling gasped and fell silent. My brow furrowed. I didn't remember going to bed. This wasn't my house. _Ugh, right, I don't have a house._

Not only that, the pillow I had shoved my face into smelled weird. Like...beer. And something else I couldn't put my finger on...sunscreen? I groaned and rolled back over, peeking out from underneath the arm that had moved to shield my face from the light. When my eyes adjusted, I immediately started freaking out. _Where in the hell __am__ I?! _I thought. I was used to waking up in strange places, but not with strange people!

And boy, did this person look strange. His expression was a mix of fear and confusion, and he was still muttering under his breath in German, something about "This isn't what I came here for". His stark white hair and pale-as-a-newborn skin looked extremely out of place, contrasting heavily to his red eyes, which were now filling with panic at my movement.

It was then that I noticed the man standing behind him, rubbing his temples. He was slightly taller than the first, and blonde. The other man-who I had now identified as albino-turned around and began shouting again, waving his arms around animatedly, much to the blonde's annoyance. Finally the second man looked up and, without warning, squared his hand on the albino's face and shoved him away.

The albino flailed about as he fell, and if I wasn't so confused, I probably would've laughed. The blonde walked toward the bed and I scrambled backwards into the headboard. I realized then how blurry everything was and, reaching up to touch my face, realized I was not wearing my glasses. The man seemed to notice my predicament and reached over to the table next to the bed, pulling out my glasses and handing them to me. I took them gratefully.

"Wer sind Sie?" (Who are you?) he asked. _Oh, right, they probably don't speak English. Well, fuck._ I thought. The man tilted his head to the side.

"Was sprechen Sie?" (What do you speak?) He tried again. At least I knew what that meant.

"U-uh, English? And-and French. Spanish too." I whispered, hoping he would at least know one of those languages. The man rubbed his eyes and spun around to face the albino, who had since stood and was now inching his way toward the door.

"Was sum Teufel?!"(What the fuck?!) He shouted, then spouted a stream of angry-sounding German that I couldn't follow. The albino raised his hands, as if to surrender.

"I did not know!" he shouted. _They speak English? _I thought. But the blonde man didn't seem to be able to speak it. He acted as if he understood it well enough. The man sighed, his shoulders sagging until they were about the height of the albino's. He pointed over his shoulder at me.

"Mit ihm sprechen."(Speak to him) He said. Once again, I was confused. The albino walked over, looking scared. _Scared? Of me? That's probably the most ridiculous thing I've heard in years. _I thought. Because, let's face it, compared to these guys, I was about as scary as a newborn kitten.

"Uh, hallo." He said, keeping his distance. It was kind of adorable, how frightened he looked. "My name is Gilbert. He is Ludwig. He is my bruder -er, brother." His accent was strong, and it was obvious he wasn't used to speaking English. "How-how are old you?" he asked suddenly. My brow furrowed. That was strange.

"Well, I'm about seventeen." I whispered. The man's shoulders sagged as his face took on the most relieved expression I had probably ever seen.

"Luddy! Er ist seibenzehn!" he shouted, catching me off guard. He turned to me and enveloped me in the most awkward hug I had ever received, at least on my part. Ludwig, in the background, was face-palming again. _What. The. Fuck. Who are these crazy people and where am I?! _I thought, trying to escape the man-Gilbert's vice-like grip. I pushed at his chest and he finally let go. _So it's him who smells like sunscreen._ I thought, my nose wrinkling at the smell.

"I zhought you vere dreizehn- er, zhirteen? Twelve?" he said. His English was odd and uncomfortable sounding. "English numbers are veird." He muttered to himself under his breath. I let out a giggle, immediately trying to stifle it with my hand. I couldn't help it, it was all so...so odd. These people and the German and the guy trying to speak English with me. Gilbert raised a pale eyebrow.

"Vhere are you from? You speak English and not Deutsche-er _vhat is it zhat zhey call it?_- German." He said. I swallowed another bout of giggles at his broken English. This would be hard to explain.

"I'm actually from Canada." I said, taking in his expression as it changed from curiosity to confusion to worry over the course of about a minute.

"But...vhere are your parents?" he exclaimed. I fidgeted nervously in my spot.

"Uhm...Canada?" I whispered, staring at my lap.

"Vhat?! How did you get here? Vhy are you here? How vill you get home?" he said. His brother, Ludwig, looked over curiously at Gilbert's worried tone.

"I..uh...ran away?" I murmured, shrinking under Gilbert's intense gaze.

"YOU VHAT?!" he shouted. I flinched, but he didn't seem to be angry at me per say, more like confused as all hell. I could understand that. Most people couldn't believe that I had gotten to Spain with such ease; actually it was harder to get to Austria, due to the change in security over the years. It was like all of a sudden everyone was freaking out about terrorist attacks and decided to dial up security about five hundred notches.

"U-uh, w-well I ran a-away ab-bout two years ago a-and went t-to Spain." I managed. Damn my tendency to stutter when I got scared. I became an ever-skipping track whenever things like this happened. The man stared at me for what felt like hours.

"You did...you...vhat? I-but you-I mean..." he spluttered. Ludwig approached him.

"Was?" he asked. Gilbert turned to him and started rambling in German, thoroughly confusing Ludwig, by the looks of it. By the time he finished, I was about ready to go back to sleep.

*~LINEBREAK~*

I sat quietly on the tattered couch, watching Ludwig and Gilbert argue. Since they were back to speaking German, it was hard for me to understand, so I ended up simply zoning out. After our little conversation, they had led me into what looked like a living room, but, as it was with every room, it was hard to tell due to the number of strange things in it. Like the homemade-looking quilt on the floor. And the miniature piano. It was weird to me how such an uptight seeming man like Ludwig could live there.

The brothers seemed to come to a conclusion, and Gilbert pulled out a phone, calling someone. I didn't want to be rude, but now he was speaking English, so it was easy for me to do a little eavesdropping. Just a wee bit.

"Ja, it is Gilbert…I need help…no, of course not it is….ja…I have zhis kid here…how should I know?...yeah…Eyebrows is fine…" he spoke rapidly, though his English was pretty bad. Suddenly his voice took on a hard edge. "Vas?! Vhy?... zhat is not my business-…..but vhat if I don't vant to?" I turned to face him completely. He ran a hand through his pale hair, tugging at it. He seemed to realize how loud he was being. "Fine. How long vill zhis take..." he hissed. "...zhis does not mean I agree …_arschloch_…fine. Ve talk later. Servus." He sighed and hung up. "Iggy is come to get you. He vill be a vhile. Fünf- er, four- no, five hours. Gott I hate Englisch." He said, flopping down onto the couch next to me. I didn't bother asking about any of that, or who this "Iggy" was. Gilbert looked exhausted.

"So…" he said, "Spain?" I nodded.

"I was there for about two years." I said, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie.

"Do you ever hear of Antonio Carriedo?" he asked. I looked over at him.

"Well, actually, yes. I've heard of him. How…how do you know him? Who is he, anyways?" Gilbert pulled a face.

"Long story. Ve are...friends? I am not sure. It's hard to say, after all zhis time. He is...he vas... bad man. Not in personality just...vhat he did would be considered bad. He is a good person." He said. _Oh no, not more mysterious "criminals" with terrible people skills who act like they hate everyone. _I thought despairingly. Not to say I particularly disliked Nikolai but...I'd rather just have one person like him in my life at one time.

Ludwig left the room, leaving me alone with Gilbert, who turned on the ancient-looking television and sprawled out on the couch. Here's the thing; I hadn't actually watched TV in two years. Sure, sometimes I would go to a restaurant and they'd have one in the corner, but I hadn't just sat on a couch and watched one for so long, it felt weird. My body was so used to moving about quickly, it felt awkward to sit still. Gilbert seemed content to lounge there, drinking some Austrian or German beer and watching television.

He didn't seem to notice my discomfort, and Ludwig was off doing god knows what. We were watching some sitcom that I couldn't quite follow, partially because it was in German and partially because I wasn't paying attention at all. Gilbert lifted his legs up to rest them on the coffee table (_If Ludwig were here, he'd probably yell at him. _I thought absentmindedly). It was amazing to me how he could go from freaking out over the fact that I may or may not have been twelve (_seriously?_), and relaxing next to me like we were long-time buddies or whatever. He offered me a beer, which I politely declined. I had no interest in drinking, and had only had wine on occasion.

After about two hours, I started to shift in my seat. I got that feeling that I always did. _It's time to get out of here._ My brain said. But I couldn't. I wasn't allowed. Still, my legs itched to walk, to run. I shoved my hands in my hoodie pocket and forced myself to sit back, to breathe slowly. It worked for a while. I focused on the television, which now showed some sci-fi movie in English, with German subtitles. I let the voices and computerized sounds lull me into a stupor. It didn't last too long, and soon I was back to sitting rigidly, like a coiled spring. My hands fisted the soft fabric of my hoodie.

_Maybe if I take it off and cool down I'll stop feeling so anxious._ I thought. I pulled it over my head with a bit of a struggle (you know when your sweater tries to strangle you?), thoroughly mussing my hair and sending my glasses askew. Gilbert glanced over questioningly but I didn't bother feeling embarrassed because I was too busy feeling like the proverbial lion in a too-small cage, except I couldn't pace back and forth. My knee bounced in anticipation and I couldn't stop twitching. At least it wasn't one of those mad-scientist-y eye twitches, just my fingers. They kept jumping up and down like heated popcorn kernels, as if they had a mind of their own. Finally, Gilbert noticed.

"You okay?" he asked, looking me up and down questioningly. I immediately forced myself to be still, my teeth clenching, piercing the edge of my tongue slightly. He sat up.

"Oh, I get it. You are uncomfortable. I get zhat. I used to be like zhat too." He said. My head snapped to the side to look at him. He rested his elbows on his knees, looking straight at me. "I used to not have a permanent home too. Actually, zhis is not my house. It's just a place ve stay sometimes." He said, gesturing offhandedly to the room. My eyes widened in surprise. "I understand zhe feeling of not being able to stay still."

"Why…why did you not have a home? Where are you from anyway, if this isn't your house?" I said. He sighed.

"Vell, actually, I am from Germany. I live zhere vizh my brother for a very long time before I come here. I am actually vondering vhy you do not ask me about my accent." I quirked an eyebrow.

"But…your accent sounds normal." I said. He laughed.

"Ja, to you, I probably sound like Austrian, but really, zhere are differences. Anyvay, vhere are you from?" he asked, relaxing once more. Well, he knew I was Canadian, but to him that probably sounded broad. Europe wasn't exactly the biggest place on the planet.

"Well, I lived in Ontario for a while, then moved to North-western Canada. You know, the middle of nowhere. Then I moved to Mississauga with my foster parents. My mom…well, my family history is…complicated." I said. I hoped Gilbert would let me leave it at that. Luckily, he didn't ask about my parents.

We talked for quite a while about nothing in particular. Where we had gone, how I had gotten here, family. I didn't want to talk about that, but it was fun to hear him talk about his brother. I realized that Gilbert was kind of like Ludwig's father in some ways. He had raised him from a young age, taught him everything he could. I could tell he was proud of how he had turned out. When I asked about how well-mannered Ludwig was, he laughed.

"It freak me out sometimes how much he is like our vati, our father. So hardvorking and determined. It makes me sad zhat he does not know him." We were so busy talking I didn't notice the time passing, too caught up in the conversation to be anxious and jumpy. It wasn't until glanced at his watch and announced the time to be four thirty-five that I realized how much time we had spent.

He pushed himself off the couch, turning off the long-forgotten TV and handing me my backpack. I looked inside it, making sure I still had the note and blanket; proof that what had happened wasn't a dream or a hallucination. I had nothing from Nikolai and Vladmir but these objects and faint, odd memories.

It was time for a fresh start again. I hoped Gilbert and this "Iggy" wouldn't make me go back home. I hoped they wouldn't have files on me….but then again, Nikolai had. _But he's a criminal. He probably has _other_ ways of getting information ._I thought.

I still didn't want to go home. I didn't want to have to go back to my boring everyday life, not when I had experienced all of this, whatever it was. "Normal" no longer had a place in my life. I had finally found somewhere where I at least somewhat belonged.

As I contemplated the possibility of being sent back to Mississauga, Gilbert walked out and came back with a small rectangle suitcase. It was about knee-height when stood on its end and black. Over his shoulder he slung a camouflaged backpack. Immediately I thought back to the night that I had stayed with Vladmir and Nikolai; the bag they had had. The information Nikolai had been researching. Where on earth had they gotten that information? _He didn't tell me. He said he had a reason. _I thought. The how and where were relatively easy to figure out with a bit of imagination, but…what kind of person had access to that sort of thing?

"Earth to Mazthew? You okay?" Gilbert said. I nodded.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Are we leaving?" I asked. I wasn't sure if I wanted to know. The possibility of being sent back made my stomach churn, and not in a good way.

A knock on the door brought my attention away. Gilbert walked calmly to the door and opened it, revealing a shorter man in a dress shirt and pressed slacks, who looked rather exasperated. Before Gilbert could say anything, he stepped through the door and began to speak.

"You have to. You owe me." He said. Gilbert crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at the smaller man. I took this moment to examine the newcomer, who I assumed was the one coming to get me. The first things I noticed were the man's eyebrows. They were large and dark and almost looked like little caterpillars on his face. The second thing I noticed was the way he held himself. Although he was at least three inches smaller than Gilbert, he stood his ground readily, squaring his feet and glaring up at the albino as if he were bigger than him.

"Vhy? You probably have plenty of brainless drones lining up to do your dirty vork. I tell you it is not my job now." It was at that moment that Ludwig walked into the room.

"Was ist los?"(What's wrong?) he asked, stepping up behind Gilbert. "Ichversthenicht."(I don't understand) Gilbert spun around and began talking at breakneck speed again. Ludwig sighed. Stepping around Gilbert, much to the man's dismay, he turned to talk to the newcomer, who stared up at him just as fiercely as he had done to Gilbert.

"We…help…you." He said, struggling with the words through his lack of understanding of the English language. That seemed to be all the man needed to hear and he relaxed considerably. Gilbert and Ludwig argued for a minute before Gilbert gave up and stalked back into the hallway. Moments later he returned carrying a grey duffel bag and a black backpack; neither of which I recognized. He still looked rather pissed at the newcomer, or "Iggy" or whatever his name was.

"IchhabendasSachen."(I have the things/stuff) he muttered to Ludwig. "And you." He said, pointing at the blonde man. "I do not owe you anymore. Nicht a verdammtSache." (Not a damn thing) He man in turn glared at Gilbert's back as he kicked the front door open and stomped out, muttering to himself.


End file.
